The end of a man is a woman.

He wears a ring on a chain
laced gently around his neck.
Never to be forgotten.
Never to be dismissed.

He keeps a crinkled photograph in his wallet,
hidden for his eyes alone.
A smile so perfect across full lips
given by an unwavering, honey-eyed girl.

He doesn't sleep anymore.
Nightmares of what should have been
change who he really is.
No one really knows who that is anymore.

Memories begin to fade,
but awake by faint laughter,
by crooked smiles,
by the smell of apples and lilacs.

He maintains a lie to the curious.
A broken heart kept secret,
along with his fear of love and dreams.
Left in loneliness by the dead.

The end of a man is a woman.